One That Came Back (9 page)

“What if there’s something wrong with the test?” Angela opened the door and pointed to the stick on the sink. “I don’t think I did it right.”

“We have two others if we need them.” Emily came in carrying the kit.

“Emily, I really think something is wrong with the test. Nothing’s showing in the display window.”

“Give it another minute, Ang.”

Angela picked up the white stick and held it out to Emily. “Look, there’s only one faint line. It doesn’t even look like a line. Maybe it’s too early to test. Maybe one line means yes.” She grabbed the box from Emily and checked the side.

“Pregnant would be two lines. So you aren’t if there’s only one.”

Angela shook her head. “I don’t believe it. I think the sticks expired or something. Maybe it read wrong somehow.”

“Here, gimme one. I’ll show you. I’ll do one myself. You’ll see the exact same result.” She unwrapped the test stick.

“Not while I’m in here! Eww!” Angela rushed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Emily laughed. “Like you’ve never seen me pee!”

“Not since I was like five!”

Laughing, she peed on the end of the stick for five seconds like the test said and waited. One line came up, a little darker than Angela’s but similar. She opened the door and showed Angela. “See, there is nothing wrong with the test.”

Angela gingerly took the end of the stick that was clean. She looked at it and then at her sister. “Are you sure? Because there are two lines here.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Look!”

Emily took the stick back from her sister and stared it at. She couldn’t believe that second line would come out in the space of handing it to Angela.

Angela started giggling. “Now are the sticks off?”

“They must be.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the stick, except to check her watch. It had been less than two minutes and two lines?

Angela pushed her out of the bathroom. “Let me try the third stick.”

Emily stood outside the door staring at the stick. She’d always been irregular and never paid much attention, but how long ago had she seen Luke? Three months? She would have noticed something, right? The sticks had to be off.

Angela came out with the stick. “Same line on mine. Like the other one.”

“Oh shit.” Emily covered her mouth.

“You didn’t know?” Angela looked partially relieved it wasn’t her. “Do you think you are? Have you noticed any symptoms?”

“I don’t know. Sore boobs I guess. I just figured it’s because I’ve been sleeping on my back or that my period was coming. Not that bad though.”

“What about puking?” Angela took the stick from Emily and shoved it in the box.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe a little nauseous in the mornings but nothing like mom described. I just figured it was because I was upset about everything’s that happened.”

“Do we need another kit?”

Emily shook her head and sighed. “I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. How I didn’t notice…” She sighed again, this time it came out shaky.

“Is it Luke’s baby?”

“Who else?”

“Well, you and Evan…” Angela let the words hang in the air.

“No!” spit Emily. “Evan and I never, ever went all the way. We argued about that. I guess I knew deep inside he wasn’t for me.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Do? I have no idea.” She touched her belly. Could she really be carrying Luke’s baby? It couldn’t be true.

“You have to tell him.”

“No!”

“He needs to know.”

Emily wanted to cry. She trudged to Angela’s living room and dropped down in the first seat. “Luke made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with me.”

“But—”

“No buts, Ang. Don’t tell Mom and Dad. Please?” She knew she sounded silly but she didn’t want anyone to know. She needed to absorb the information on her own.

“You can’t do this on your own!” Angela pressed her lips tight. “That Luke Wade! He left you a mess in high school and now he’s gone and done it again. I’d like to give him a piece of my mind!”

Emily tried not to smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. Her sister’s idea of a piece of her mind would be equivalent to having a gummy bear beat up a giant. “Don’t you even think about seeing Luke Wade!” Emily sighed. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t do this on your own. Maybe adoption? You wouldn’t…” Angela’s eyes grew big at the thought of what she couldn’t say.

“No!” Emily shook her head. “No, Ang. If I’m big enough to get myself into this situation, I’m adult enough to deal with the consequences.”

“What would you do? Live with Mom and Dad? You couldn’t drive yourself to the hospital if you were in labor. What about—”

“Geez, Angela! I need time to think. I can’t answer any of that now.” She sank against the back of the chair. Pregnant? How was she going to handle this? She had no job, no health insurance, and now, being pregnant, no one would want to hire her. And everything else? Baby furniture, clothes, diapers. Raising a kid was expensive! She buried her head in her hands. “I sure fucked up this time.”

Neutral Ground

Luke didn’t dislike George, but he got impatient with incompetence. The DEA sent George undercover because the man claimed he knew how to repair bikes. He must have meant bicycles. George had a shade tree mechanic’s understanding of motorcycle engines and could barely replace brake pads. Luke did his best to give him simple jobs, but the truth of it was that Luke’s reputation was built on his ability to repair high-performance bikes. Harley engines mandated a master’s level of knowledge. Gibs had known, Saks had the skills, and Pepper was learning it. But George didn’t, and would never be good. It was a problem. A big one.

Luke grabbed his iPad off his desk.

“Hey, George.” Luke tried to sound positive. “What’re you doing there?”

“Well, the complaint is stalling and rough idle. I thought I’d change the spark plugs and see what happens.”

Luke shook his head. “Most likely it’s the electronic fuel injection sensor.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you can trust an electronic component to fail before a piece of hardware does. Those things are cranky even in Harleys. Leave it for Saks.”

“But,” George said as Luke gave him a warning look. He wasn’t going to listen to George’s argument about being in first today.

“Look.” Luke clenched his jaw before continuing, “I’ve no doubt you’re damn good at what you do, but this is my business and I can’t afford to fuck up anyone’s bike. Play the part of the eager intern all you want, but you aren’t handling the big stuff.”

“I can do it.”

Luke sighed, his patience wearing thin. “No, you can’t. There are guys who go to Harley College to learn how to do this work.”
Not pomp-ass little police shits trying to ruin my life and my shop!

“Harley College?”

“They certify as Harley mechanics through certain schools.”

“Did you go to one of these schools?”

He’d had enough. “Don’t you have a fuckin’ dossier on me to check that shit?” he snapped. “Of course I did. Did it through the G. I. Bill.”

“I still can’t believe you served, man.”

“Yeah, neither does the Navy.” He shoved his iPad toward George. “Go do the inventory.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, and each time I tell you. You missed five fuel injectors on the last one. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

George opened his mouth to argue, which was always a mistake, but shut it when the distinctive roar of several Harley engines rattled the open garage doors.

Luke stepped to the entrance and nearly shit his pants. Four Rojos sat on various models and model years of Harleys, ranging from the eighties to the first decade of the millennium. The Rojos sat on their bikes poised in front of the entrance, letting their engines idle. The ominous rumbling of the bikes drew George to the entrance as well.

“You the owner?” called out the foremost rider to Luke above the sound of the engines. The man was dark skinned and his face round. His unruly dark long hair held back by the Rojos trademark red bandana. He wore the standard Rojos uniform, denim cut, blue jeans and a white wife beater. His shoulders were hunched a bit, folding in the cut toward his chest so Luke couldn’t see the exact patches, but there were a number of wings, which did not testify to the man’s good character.

“Yes.”

“I hear you fix bikes.”

“You could say that,” Luke said tersely. He stared down the man, wondering what the hell the Rojos were doing at his shop.

“I’ve got an oil leak no one can find. I hear you’re the best.”

“Yeah? You sure you want me to fix it?” Luke crossed his arms, careful not to sound angry. “I’m sure you’ve heard I’m not in good standing with your club.”

“Yeah, I got that
pendejo
. But when it comes to my ride I don’t care what color yellow you are. If you can fix it, I’ll pay. So, let’s just say for today, your shop is neutral territory.”

Luke looked away then turned back and slowly nodded. “Okay, man. But don’t fuck with me. My friends wouldn’t like that.”

“Do I have to wave a fucking white flag? My baby’s ailing here and I can’t afford to lose her.”

Luke walked over to the bike. He whistled as he looked over the bike. “What is it? A 2007 Sportster?” His interest in the bike outweighed the trouble of the rival club.

“Yeah, it was my old man’s.”

“You mean your old lady’s,” joked one of the other guys on a bike.

“
Silencio
,” hissed the Rojos.

Luke knelt beside the bike to examine it while the Rojos had it idling. “I’ve a 2009 Sportster,” Luke explained, “one of the pearl orange ones. It’s a bike made for speed like yours.” He straightened and tapped the handlebar. “But your baby’s eight years old and looks like it can use some deep maintenance, a little more than changing the oil and brakes. Hop off and I’ll take it into the bay.”

“No fuckin’ way. No one rides my bike but me.”

“And your mechanic. Insurance says either me or one of my employees takes it into the bay. Or you’ll have to take it somewhere else.”

The guy shook his head. “No, man. They call me Pez.”

“Pez, eh?”

“Yah, cuz the
hombre
can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Who’s talking, eh,
cabron?”

Reluctantly, the man got off his bike. Luke stuck out his hand. “My street name’s Spade.”

“Spade, eh? For a white guy like you?”

“
Tal vez no tan blanco
,” said Luke.

“
Como
?”

“My mom was French, from Hispaniola, though my dad was Mexican.”

“So how you end up here,
ese
?”

“Bad luck,” said Luke with a smile.

The Rojos laughed. “I can see that.” Pez slapped him on the back. “I like you, man.”

Luke settled into the saddle of the bike. “I’ll take her in then. You can go in the office and wait there. Or there’s a coffee shop over in the next lot.”

“No fuckin’ coffee. I want to watch the work.”

“Then open the door to the shop, just don’t step in.” He shrugged. “Insurance, again.”

“
No necesita esperar para mí. Te llamare,
” said Pez to his companions.

With some grumbling the Rojos rode off.

Luke might not like the Rojos in general, but this guy Pez seemed all right. Luke watched him walk toward the office and caught the territory name off the man’s bottom rocker on his cut.

Bridgeport.

Well, fuck,
Luke thought. Bridgeport to Westfield was a forty mile trip one way. Bridgeport was once a large manufacturing center, but now it was riddled with poverty and decay. To the people of nice, safe, middle-class Westfield it was another county. It was highly unlikely the man showed up of his own volition. The message was clear. Someone sent him here.

Why?

With Pez watching him through the open door, Luke pulled the Sportster in the bay closest to the entrance and put it on the lift. He pulled it up slightly so he could get a good look all around and didn’t see where the leak could be. Pez was right. It was a hidden leak.

“George, go over to the barber shop next to the coffee shop and ask if I can borrow a can of talcum powder.”

“Talcum powder?”

“Just do it, George.”

“Sure, Luke.”

While Luke waited for George, he cleaned out the gunk at the bottom of the engine with spray engine cleaner, wiping it away with a clean soft cloth. When George returned, Luke put a small amount of powder in his hand and blew a fine mist of it over the bottom of the engine. Lowering the bike he started the engine and let it idle.

Pez looked at him with disbelief and called out, “You gonna fix my bike with barber powder? What? Want to give it a sexy smell?”

“Just give it some time.” The minutes ticked tensely by as the engine idled and no oil appeared. The engine was almost getting too hot to idle. Then a small dark spot appeared on the white talcum. Luke almost sighed in relief and turned off the engine. “Here it is. It isn’t engine oil at all. It’s gear oil from your tranny that's slipping out from the clutch cable. No wonder your mechanic couldn’t find it.”

“No,
pendejo. My
mechanic did. So what’ll it cost to fix it?”

“It’s mostly labor. We have a two-hour minimum.” Luke did the math. “Two hundred fifty bucks.”

“I see.” Pez grimaced.

Luke realized the man couldn’t afford it. He glanced at the shop clock. Damn, Saks was late, again. He would have to do this repair himself. That wasn’t a problem, but he worried what would happen if one of his regular customers came in and saw the outlaw biker in his office.

What the fuck you worried about, Wade?
he said to himself.
Isn’t that what the Spawn are becoming?
It was true. He knew it. This man was sent here to find out how much. Everything Luke said and did was being evaluated. This biker must be highly respected by state leadership if he was sent to do this reconnaissance.

Luke wiped his hands with a clean towel. “I’ll tell you what. This’ll take me an hour if I have no distractions. I’ll give you a one-time only friends and family discount if you tell people what a good job I did. Say a hundred twenty-five.”

“All I have to do is say nice things about you?” Pez arched an eyebrow.

“Not me. You can call me a
pendejo
if you want. Just say that Luke Wade is a
pendejo
, but he’s a wizard at fixing bikes.”

The man relaxed, taking Luke’s meaning. Luke didn’t expect to be exonerated from the Rojos’ thinking of him.

Pez chuckled. “I think I can handle that,
pendejo
.”

“Good.” Luke turned back to the bike and went to work right away. He worked steady to take off the tranny box, clean it out, replace the seals and fill it back with gear oil. The work was nearly finished when Pepper walked into the bay from the back garage door and stopped short when he saw the Rojos watching his boss work.

“Pez, Pepper. Pepper, Pez,” said Luke, waving an Allen wrench he was using to put the tranny box back together. He then fixed it back onto the bike with sure, swift turns of his wrench. “Okay, that does it. All it needs is a test run.”

“Naw,” said Pez. “I’ve got to run. Thanks, man. I’ll run by the cash to you next Friday.”

Pepper stared at Pez, knowing that Luke only delivered a bike when payment was made.

“Okay,” said Luke, which caused Pepper’s eyes to nearly bug out. “But Friday it is, or I’ll put a curse on it and you’ll find out I’m not a wizard but a
voudin
. Because you know what they practice on Hispaniola.”

“Don’t worry,
ese
. You’ll have your cash.”

Luke rolled the bike out to the parking lot and handed it over to Pez, who started it and raced off.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Pepper came up behind him.

“I don’t know, but I think I just got Central Valley Bike Repair declared neutral ground.” He slapped Pepper on the shoulder. “Not bad for a morning’s work, eh?”

“Fuck, no,” said Pepper in awe.

“Good. Now get on that bagger. And put George on the pig. The man’s nearly useless with the bikes anyway.” Luke looked at the shop’s clock again and sighed. “It looks like Saks won’t be in today.”